It's about that time...

We met with the hospice agency today to get things in order for Mom. Yup, we're there, folks. It has been a long-time coming, but it's still so bizarre to be getting everything in order to wrap up one's life.

Shine and Gofahne have taken to calling me "Alcatraz" because of my tendency to keep my walls firmly in place, locked up. (I know I'm allowed to break down, mind you. I'd simply rather not.) I feel like a friggin' robot because I really haven't cried much in the past few months. Certain moments set me off (like having to break the news to my wonderful brother or seeing my sweet Papaw sob), but I'm going about the whole situation like it's simply another task that needs to be handled. I'm discussing DNRs and signing end-of-life contracts as though I'm negotiating a gym membership: with little emotion and an eye for details.

As goofy as it sounds, I believe that I was built from the get-go to handle my mom's disease, death, and all that goes along with it. I was put under her roof a month before she was diagnosed (the second time) because it was my task to be her caretaker and see her through this journey. We've talked very openly about her disease from the very beginning, and I have been able to anticipate her needs and wants simply by nature of our deep-seeded relationship. She can communicate so much with just a glance or gesture in my direction. More than a testimony to an incredible bond, this is also part of what I believe God has given us both to see this through.

Not to mention, we've got a support network of family and friends that has straight up kept me out of the asylum. Nothing is coincidence, particularly the company that I find myself in during a time like this.

I know that tougher days still lie ahead. I wish my siblings could drop everything and come home, as I know they wish they could. But life has to and will go on, and nothing in this next chapter will be anything short of exactly what is meant to be. I have unwavering faith in that. And I wish the same for our family and friends.


  1. You know we love you and we're here for you if you DO decide to break down. Otherwise, I'm in full support of Alcatraz as a way to get through this for the time being. It's a lot to be put on your shoulders, but no one could handle it more gracefully than you.

    Plus, there's always drinking.

  2. I'm amazed by you, your family, and the elegance with which you've dealt and are dealing with this whole ordeal. It's heart breaking, beautiful, sad and inspiring. I agree that none of the things that have fallen into place over the past few weeks, months and years are just coincidence. I hope if I'm ever faced with anything remotely similar to this in my life, I can do it with half as much grace as you and your mother have.

  3. You do whatever you need to do, and I will be here to support you. The faith you have in your mom and in yourself is remarkable, and the strength you've shown is a credit to your character and ability to handle the cards you've been dealt. How you've made it through this journey, I don't know. I do know it's hard/awful/horrible/frustrating but I admire your perspective so much. My thoughts and whole heart are with you and your family.

    Just make sure you are taking care of your shiny, beautiful hair and skin okay?

  4. It's always a good thing to have great friends. There have been times when they have been the main reason I'm even here today with all (or at least most) of my faculties intact. My best to you.

  5. Sending you positive thoughts :)

  6. Oh, darlin. My heart goes out to you and your family. I'm so glad you have such a kickass support group there for you!

  7. Good luck sweetie. I know exactly what you mean by shutting down and making it just another task. I do it all the time. And it works for me. You'll be in my prayers...